Category Archives: Books

Everything is Combustible, by Richard Lloyd

Title: Everything Is Combustible: Television, CBGB's & Five Decades Of Rock & Roll: The Memoirs Of An Alchemical Guitarist

Author: Richard Lloyd

Publisher: Beech Hill Publishing

Publication Date: October 24, 2017

www.beechhillpublishingcompany.com

 

 

Discorporate and we’ll begin: a review of the erstwhile Television guitarist’s memoir. As long as one’s expectations are not set upon finding a typical memoir within its pages, it’s time well spent. 

BY BILL KOPP

Everything is Combustible is not your run-of-the-mill rock memoir. But then Richard Lloyd is nobody’s idea of a run-of-the-mill rock musician. As a founding member and leading light of Television, Lloyd was at the front edge of New York City’s music scene in the late 1970s. And Everything is Combustible addresses that period. But Lloyd’s life has been not unlike that of Walt Whitman: it contains multitudes.

The weighty tome—it comes in just shy of 400 pages in a hardbound cover—spans Lloyd’s life from birth. In fact he spends a good bit of ink telling readers of his memories from when he was a mere nine months old. Like most every recollection in the book, the story is told in a deliberately dry, reportorial style, one completely void of both emotion and—it would seem—agenda.

Lloyd goes on to tell stories of his early efforts in wordless communication, and of entering a kind of fugue state. To take him at his word—and there’s absolutely no reason to do otherwise—is to realize that Lloyd was no average kid. His tales of sex, drugs and (eventually) rock ‘n’ roll are recounted in that same take-it-or-leave-it style.

And damned if it doesn’t work. Lloyd’s history is unusual enough that any other approach—especially one that leveraged the more salacious and sensational aspects of his life—would have failed to do justice to that story. And like any good story, each sequence of experiences and events—often presented in a kind of slightly disjointed, vignette style—all seem to lead inexorably toward the next chapter.

Lloyd subtitles his memoir “Television, CBGB’s and Five Decades of Rock and Roll” (it’s sub-subtitled “The Memoirs of an Alchemical Guitarist,” so there’s that) but readers will have to wait until Chapter 18 to get to the rock, Chapter 41 for CBGB’s, and somewhere in between for Television. Luckily the half of the book not about those things is quite engrossing … and more than a little off-kilter.

A recent backstage conversation with a member of a high-profile group yielded this quote: “Most musicians are somewhere on the [Autism] spectrum.” Far be it from me to engage in unlicensed diagnosis from afar, but time spent reading Everything is Combustible leads me to think this just may be true.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. Lloyd is a masterful storyteller, albeit a decidedly idiosyncratic one. His stories about leaving his body make sense when one reads his prose; the man often writes with a kind of detached objectivity that suggests he really can discorporate.

Readers looking for detailed accounts of exactly which Neumann mic was used on a specific Television track are doomed to come away disappointed; Everything is Combustible simply isn’t that kind of rock memoir. And while Lloyd occasionally dishes on other well-known personalities, it’s not really that kind of book, either. He doesn’t much like Tom Verlaine, but then you probably knew that already. (Ed. Note: Speaking of musical personalities, early in the book Lloyd takes in on the chin—literally—from Jimi Hendrix. Later on, Patti Smith takes in on the chin—figuratively—from Lloyd. Coincidence?)

As long as one’s expectations are not set upon finding a typical memoir within its pages, time spent with Richard Lloyd’s Everything is Combustible is time well spent indeed.

BOOK EXCERPT: Jimi Hendrix – The Illustrated Story, by Gillian G. Gaar

Early last month Voyageur Press published Hendrix: The Illustrated History, the latest book by Northwest-based journalist (and longtime BLURT contributor) Gillian G. Gaar, who has penned volumes on Elvis, Nirvana, the Doors, and more. The handsomely appointed, 224-page hardcover is far more than just an “illustrated” history, although the wealth of images that pepper the book’s gorgeous layout certainly tell the Hendrix tale in vivid fashion, from photos both iconic and rare to reproductions of records both key and obscure (Hendrix collectors are particularly well-served by all the overseas singles pictures sleeves here).

Gaar also submits the kind of detailed, insider’s-view story that makes H:TIH different that most coffee table music books. It’s broken into seven lengthy chapters, each wrapping up a specific period in the late guitarist’s life, literally from birth to death to aftermath—both man and legend are outlined with painstaking precision. Below you’ll read the first section of Chapter 6, “The Wink of an Eye,” which picks up at the dawn of the Seventies—January 1, 1970, to be exact, as Hendrix and his recently-assembled Band of Gypsys are onstage at the Fillmore East.

An essential read for even the most thoroughly schooled Hendrix devotee, Hendrix: The Illustrated History hits all the right notes from cover to cover. And speaking of that cover: The day-glo front is textured with black velvet, giving it a decisive, and literal, ‘60s artifact feel. Nice touch, that. —Ed.

The following excerpt is from Chapter 6 (pp.155-159), “The Wink Of An Eye”. (Text and images used with the kind permission of the author, and Voyageur Press/Quarto Group.)

January 1, 1970, found the Band of Gypsys back on stage for their second night at the Fillmore East. The engagement was well received—promoter Bill Graham called Jimi’s work “the most brilliant, emotional display of virtuoso electric guitar playing I have ever heard.” “It appears Hendrix is finding where he should be at, and he might well emerge as the greatest of the new blues guitarists,” DownBeat magazine’s critic wrote. “I can only hope that he learns that it is not necessary to amplify to or past the point of distortion.” And Jimi had more plans for the Band of

Gypsys. After the final show, he told Al Aronowitz of the of the New York Post that he wanted to take the band “back to the blues” and have Buddy Miles do more of the singing.

But by the end of the month, the Band of Gypsys was no more. In late January, Jimi got into a fierce argument with his manager when Jeffery wanted to fire Buddy Miles and reunite the Experience. When Jimi refused, Jeffery threatened to tear up their contract. Jimi backed down; as much as he complained about his manager and talked about leaving him, he never took any serious steps to do so. He also undoubtedly felt conflicted, as he wasn’t entirely happy with Buddy’s presence in the band himself. Buddy was used to being the leader of his own group, and Jimi didn’t like being challenged. “Jimi truly loved Buddy,” Billy Cox said, “but he was the star. He was the boss.”

In this fraught atmosphere, the Band of Gypsys came together to play what would be its final show, an appearance at the Winter Festival for Peace at Madison Square Garden on January 28. Despite his dislike of the group, Jeffery had nonetheless arranged for the performance to be filmed for a possible TV special. When Jimi showed up backstage, he seemed unwell. “When I saw him, it gave me the chills,” Johnny Winter later told Guitar Player. “It was the most horrible thing I’d ever seen . . . it was like he was already dead.” He watched as Jimi made his way to a couch and put his head in his hands: “He didn’t move until it was time for the show.”

Buddy Miles would swear that Jeffery had given Jimi LSD to deliberately sabotage the show and the band, but that hardly seems likely given that Jeffery had put up $6,000 to film the performance. Jimi himself said that it was Devon Wilson who had dosed him. Nor was there any shortage of intoxicants backstage, and Jimi was becoming increasingly reckless in his drug use. “Drugs were not only screwing him up, they were destroying the environment he needed to create,” said Electric Lady Studios manager Jim Marron. “Hendrix sat through many paternal lectures about his drug use from all of us, but I doubt it had any long-term effect.”

The show ran late, and the band didn’t take the stage until 3:00 a.m. Following another argument with Jeffery, Jimi sent out one of the crew to get lighter fluid so he could burn his guitar, but the delivery was intercepted by Gerry Stickells. It was a wise decision, as Jimi was so intoxicated that he ran the risk of setting himself on fire. Billy and Buddy weren’t sure Jimi would even make it through the set, and their fears were confirmed as the band staggered through the opening song, “Who Knows.” The band then played “Earth Blues,” only for Jimi to abruptly stop playing and announce, “That’s what happens when earth fucks with space. Never forget that.” He then stopped playing and sat on the drum riser until he was helped offstage.

After this debacle, Jeffery fired Buddy—an action Buddy always believed was solely Jeffery’s doing. Certainly there was no love lost between the two, but those who worked for Jeffery insisted that his focus remained on business and that he would not have fired a musician without Jimi’s tacit approval, which, given Jimi’s disinclination to be the bearer of bad news, seemed likely. In any case, it was a dispiriting end to the band, and Billy Cox soon returned to Nashville.

Now Jeffery could get underway with what he’d wanted to do all along: reunite the Jimi Hendrix Experience. Noel and Mitch were agreeable, a press release was sent out, and the three musicians came together for an interview with Rolling Stone on February 4 in New York City. Jimi called the Winter Festival for Peace concert “like the end of a big long fairy tale” and explained his performance by saying he was “very tired.” But he also didn’t sound completely committed to the reunion, saying that he still wanted to “have time on the side to play with friends. That’s why I’ll probably be jamming with Buddy and Billy; probably be recording, too, on the side, and they’ll be doing the same.”

The interview turned out to be the full extent of the Experience’s “reunion.” On reflection, Jimi decided he had no wish to play with Noel again and persuaded Billy to return to New York. Sadly, no one thought to inform Noel of this decision, and he also returned to New York in March to wait for rehearsals to start. He finally learned he’d been kicked out of the band when he contacted Mitch at his hotel after days of waiting for a call, only to be told that Mitch was off rehearsing with Jimi. Jimi never apologized, but he did drop by sessions for Noel’s solo album Nervous Breakdown, playing on the track “My Friend.” The song, and Noel’s album, remain unreleased.

Jimi was also working with Eddie Kramer in preparing the Band of Gypsys album, and work was completed on February 19. Jimi hoped it would resolve the ongoing legal situation with Ed Chalpin. Then, in March, he learned some news that stunned him: Kathy Etchingham had gotten married.

Since Jimi now spent most of his time in New York City, he’d fallen out of touch with his one-time girlfriend. Kathy knew he saw other women, which bothered her less than the sycophantic hangers-on that surrounded him. She had no wish to be a part of such an entourage, and as she hadn’t heard from Jimi in months, she assumed their relationship had run its course.

Now, he called not only to ask if it was true she had married, but that he was also returning to London to see her. Kathy met him at the airport and was surprised when he took her hand on the ride into town and asked, “This is just a spur of the moment thing, isn’t it. It’s not serious, is it?” Kathy was taken aback at how “completely devastated” he was by the news. Jimi had expected her to be “waiting for him, the good little woman keeping the home fires burning. . . . I realized that in his mind I had let him down just like his mum and dad had before me.”

Jimi tried to persuade her to come back to New York with him, assuring her, “All those people I was hanging out with have gone.” But Kathy refused, not wanting to get caught up again in the “mayhem and madness” of Jimi’s life. To her relief, he eventually seemed to accept her decision.

Jimi found time for a little session work as well, coming by Island Studios on March 15, where Stephen Stills was recording his self-titled debut album (released in November 1970). Jimi played lead guitar on “Old Times, Good Times” and played on two other tracks that as of this writing have yet to be released. On March 17, he joined Arthur Lee at Olympic Studios, where Lee was working on Love’s False Start album. Jimi played guitar on the track “The Everlasting First”; the album was released in December. He then returned to New York.

March also saw the US release of Band of Gypsys, which reached No. 5. The UK release followed in June, with the album reaching No. 6. The US album cover was straightforward, featuring a color-tinted shot of Jimi in performance; the UK version was decidedly odd, featuring puppets created by artist Saskia de Boer—there was a Jimi Hendrix puppet, a Brian Jones puppet, a Bob Dylan puppet, and a puppet of British DJ John Peel. The cover drew numerous complaints, resulting in Track reissuing the album with a new cover, though the new design was just as odd in its own way—it was a picture of Jimi performing at the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival, not a Band of Gypsys show. In the United States, the single “Stepping Stone” was released to accompany the album in April, but it failed to chart.

The Woodstock film also had its debut in March, running just over three hours and featuring three songs from Jimi’s set: “The Star-Spangled Banner,” “Purple Haze,” and “Villanova Junction.” With a $600,000 budget, the film went on to gross over $50 million, making it a remarkable success. The soundtrack, which featured the same three songs, was released on May 27 in the United States, topping the chart, while in the UK, the album was released in June and reached No. 35.

Work on Electric Lady Studios was continuing. Michael Jeffery secured a loan from Warner Bros. to help finance the project, which would eventually top $1 million. Jimi went back on the road to keep money coming in but mostly did shows on the weekends, sometimes including a Thursday or a Monday, which gave him a little breathing room. Mitch Mitchell was back, and Billy Cox was persuaded to return as well. Even Buddy Miles was around; the Buddy Miles Express opened for Jimi at the Los Angeles Forum on April 25 and at Cal Expo in Sacramento on April 26.

The band wasn’t officially the Jimi Hendrix Experience, though they were sometimes billed that way. Jimi seemed relieved to put the group behind him. “I’m not sure how I feel about the Experience now,” he told Keith Altham in April. “Maybe we could have gone on but what would have been the point of that— what would it have been good for? It’s a ghost now—it’s dead—like back pages in a diary. I’m into new things and I want to think about tomorrow, not yesterday.”

The group was booked into stadiums and other large halls but returned to a smaller venue for one night, the Village Gate, on May 4. The occasion was a benefit concert for Timothy Leary, who’d been convicted of marijuana possession. Noel Redding was also on the bill, and it was the last time Jimi shared a stage with his former bandmate.

 

 

Incoming: Chris Stamey Memoir on dB’s and NYC in Late ’70s

 

By Fred Mills

The University of Texas Press is well-known for publishing top-notch books about music and musicians, in particular the American Music Series which has yielded memorable volumes about Ryan Adams, Los Lobos, John Prine, Chrissie Hynde, and Vic Chesnutt (penned by fellow musician Kristin Hersh, no less), and others. That series is overseen by Acquiring Editor Casey Kittrell and edited by Jessica Hopper, David Menconi (who wrote the Adams book), and Oliver Wang.

Now word arrives that in April of next year the series will yield A Spy in the House of Loud: New York Songs and Stories, by Chris Stamey. The product description reads thusly:

A cofounder of the dB’s, Chris Stamey re-creates the music scene in late 1970s New York City, recalling the birth of punk and other new streams of electric music as well as the making of the cult albums Stands for deciBels and Repercussion.

It’s definitely a book indie music lovers will eagerly embrace, as Stamey had a front-row seat to – and was a part of – the punk and New Wave explosion in NYC. He’s also the kind of guy who’s blessed with a sharp memory (something a lot of us ’70s refugees can’t necessarily lay claim to) and even sharper observational and analytic skills. It’ll definitely be a keeper.

FOR THE LOVE OF ZINES! (Pt. 7)

This is what the world looked like before WordPress, punks. And it was a more vibrant, exuberantly tactile world, too. Our resident fanzine expert Tim “Dagger” Hinely weighs in.

BY TIM “DAGGER” HINELY

Print is still alive and well and here’s some rags to prove it! (See Part 6 of this series elsewhere on the Blurt site.) Fall is here, which means that the baseball season is slowly coming to its conclusion, so with that in mind….

***

7 & 7 is… (#3) This cool zine is the size of a 45 record (and even includes a flexi) is done by the folks who run the terrific label Hidden Volume label out of Baltimore (think sort of an updated version of Estrus Records, at least in the graphics dept). Plus it’s named after a Love song so of course it’s good, man! This ish has interviews with The Improbables (done by some wanker named Hinely) and Louie Louie plus some most excellent graphics and reviews. Do me a favor, inundate Scott with orders so he continues with this one. www.hiddenvolume.com

The Big Takeover (#80) As I  stated last time, if editor Jack Rabid hits issue one hundred I wanna be there for that party. Every June and December one of these drops into my mail box (thanks Jack!) .  This time around it’s Chrissie Hynde of The Pretender (on da’ cover) plus other heavyweights like Tommy Stinson, part two of the Lush interview, Tobin Sprout, The Black Watch, Sleaford Mods, Grandaddy and more and lots of more including short takes and a boatload (or truckload if you prefer) of reviews. Also, as I stated last time, you need to subscribe.  www.bigtakeover.com

Bored Out  (#1) Ok, not really a zine, more like a book (it’s bound) but zine-ish enough as editor Ryan Leach has put together one hell of a lineup here including totally in-depth interviews with Kid Congo Powers,  In the Red Record’s Larry Hardy, The Bats’ Robert Scott,  Jeffrey Evans formerly of the Gibson Bros, Ross Johnson, The Blasters’ Dave Alvin, The Real Kids’ John Felice and plenty more. I’m about halfway through and totally fascinated. This one’s a keeper, order nowwww.spacecaserecords.com

Dynamite Hemorrhage (#4)   So for this issue, his 4th since coming back from the dead (so to speak…editor Jay Hinman used to do the great Superdope in the 90’s) Mr. Hinman decided to go all half-sized on us (just like the early issues of Superdope) but it still looks way sharp. In this ish he has an interview with The Kiwi Animal as well as a terrific piece on Happy Squid Records, plus he updates his old piece of 45 45’s that moved heaven and earth to expand it to 100 45’s. In addition, plenty of reviews all wrapped up in a nice little package that only Hinman can put together. www.dynamitehemorrhage.com
Vulcher (#3) Yes! The Vulcher crew are on a real roll here and yes, they’re already working on issue #4. The crew is Eddie Flowers, Kelsey Simpson and “Sonic” Sam Murphy and a long list of contributors (including yours truly) and they really delve deep and deliver here. It has the feel of an old school mag and this time around are bits ‘n pieces on Eric Dolphy, Obnox, early 45s by Jim Dickinson, Uncle Meat, The Embryonics, Big Boy Pete, a piece on the late, great David Peel, my piece on two great Aussie garage rock comps and really too much more. Well worth every penny.  Write Eddie at slippytown@gmail.com or Kelsey at artichokenotes@gmail.com

The Blurt Music Book Summer ’17 Reading List

January 01, 1970

Everything from a legendary Austin music venue and the equally legendary Minneapolis punk scene, to the Summer of Love and the Newport Folk Festival. (Pictured above: the Suicide Commandos.)

BY JOHN B. MOORE, LEE ZIMMERMAN, TIM HINELY, AND FRED MILLS

Complicated Fun – The Birth Of Minneapolis Punk And Indie Rock, 1974 – 1984, by Cyn Collins
Minnesota Historical Society Press (April 4)

There are a number of seminal U.S. rock scenes that easily come to mind: New York in the mid-to-late ‘70s; Athens, GA in the early – to-mid- ‘80s and Seattle in the early ‘90s. Often overlooked by many but the die-hard music obsessives is Minneapolis throughout the ‘70s and early ‘80s. Prince, the Suburbs, Husker Du, the Replacements, Soul Asylum, Suicide Commandos… It’s remarkable that such a small region could be responsible for creating such an influentially impressive list of artists that remain relevant 30 and 40 years later.

DJ and music journalist Cyn Collins does a remarkable job in this oral history of tracking down and recording the memories and anecdotes of some of the scene greats. The early ‘70s were lean times for the Minneapolis musicians with few places to play, but getting inspiration from eclectic scenes like Detroit, London and New York, local rockers started to gather wherever they could, be it frat parties, bowling alleys or, in many cases, their own homes. Spurred on by influential local record stores like Oar Folkjokeopus or Electric Fetus, a legit music scene started to bubble up. Out of Oar Folkjokepus, for example, came Twin/Tone Records which would go on to put out records by the Replacements, Soul Asylum, The Suburbs, Jayhawks, Babes In Toyland and a slew of other great bands.

Around the same time, rock and punk venues started up and traded owners – in particular The Longhorn and First Avenue, in the process becoming legendary venues and soon locals realized Minneapolis bands were just as important as the national touring groups stopping through.

Complicated Fun is crammed with inside stories from those who helped start the scene. Everyone has a Prince story, everyone has a drunk Replacements story and everyone remembers the scene for what it was: a tight community of raucous, but brilliantly talented musicians some of whom would fade out early, but many of whom would go on to international acclaim and inspire others in far off places to start their own music scenes. Complicated Fun is a beautiful love note to DIY music everywhere. [John B. Moore]

Boogie Chillun: Rock ‘n’ Blues Articles, Album & Book Reviews (The Reverend’s Archives, Vol. 4), by Reverend Keith A. Gordon

Excitable Press (April 8)

Volume friggin’ FOUR? Damn, Rev, you are making the rest of us scribes out here in indiesville look like slackers!

The “Rev” would be Keith Gordon, Nashville ex-pat currently terrorizing the populace of upstate New York, and regularly beaming his broadsides in via the digital pipeline to multiple media outlets (including, full disclosure, this very one from time to time). He’s a prolific sonofabitch, too, for you may recall that barely six months ago we reviewed his Let It Rock! compendium of rock-write, the third volume in his ongoing series of missives from the Gordon archives. As I noted at the time, “Let It Rock! zips, zings, and zooms across the rock/blues/Americana CD and DVD milieu, and as is always the case with record review anthologies, your attention and enthusiasm will ebb and flow depending on which artifact your thumb winds up paging to…. There’s something here for all of us, kids, ‘cos when the Rev. sets up his tent to preach the gospel, it’s a big goddam tent he pitches.”

Picking up where its predecessor left off, Boogie Chillun finds Gordon plucking roccrit nuggets from his back pages anew, dipping all the way back to the ‘70s at times, ultimately serving up more than 150 reviews (“and over 120,000 words,” he adds). Among those nuggets:

Black Oak Arkansas: The Complete Raunch ‘n’ Roll Live (album review): Okay, okay, all you Coachella clowns out there, yes, Rev. Keith and yours truly are indeed rednecks. That’s why we loved Black Oak in the first place! But I can tell you this: Back in the day, when Jim Dandy came to the rescue in concert, you considered yourself done rescued. Something tells me that is not a claim that a Fleet Foxes or Feist fan can make.

Johnny Thunders & the Heartbreakers: L.A.M.F. Live at the Village Gate 1977 (album review): Who needs another crummy-sounding, bootleg-in-everything-but-name-only Heartbreakers rec? You do, that’s who! Just because it’s released on Cleopatra doesn’t mean it’s not pure junk—which, coincidentally enough, is what killed Johnny Thunders. So don’t let it happen to you, kids. This is your brain on Rev. Keith—any questions?

Steve Earle & The Dukes: Terraplane (album review): As Blues are Gordon’s specialty, he includes plenty of da blooze in his book. He’s particularly well-qualified to assess Steve Earle’s well-publicized foray into the field, and his observations are about as insightful as any commentary I’ve read on Earle, period, and not just about the Terraplane album.

Zap Comix No. 16 (book review): I still own copies of all the original Zap underground comics—R. Crumb, if you are reading this, drop me a line sometime—but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb enough to actually take ‘em out of their bags ‘n’ boards and get my finger oil all over the covers. That’s why we have folks like Fantagraphics to reprint ‘em! “Zap Comix was the grandaddy of all undergrounds [that] proved that comix were a legitimate art form,” writes Gordon. Amen.

-“Piracy on the High Seas of Cyberspace” (1998 essay/op-ed): Here, Gordon talks to music industry folks such as Bill Glahn (then-editor of Live! Music Review, a bootleg-centric publication) and Richard Conlon of BMI, and the topic is issues surrounding the leaking of big-name albums before street date and the industry’s response. In 2017, the notion of “leaks” might seem vaguely quaint, given that numerous artists now put their music up on the web for streaming well ahead of an album’s physical release, and it actually serves to build buzz, not kill it. But in 1998 it was still a big deal, and the powers that be were shitting bricks and sweating dollars every time a major release loomed on the horizon. When you read this article, pay close attention to the comments from Glahn, as he presciently envisions what music access and distribution in the digital age-to-come will look like.

The Author points out in his introduction that Boogie Chillun is the final installment in his rock ‘n’ roll brain dump: “It still only scratches a small part of what I’ve written overall… I figure that four books of my literary narcissism are probably (at least) three too many… Perhaps it’s time for something new.”

Regarding the “three too many” angle: As someone who has enjoyed this rock ‘n’ roll animal’s writing for many years, I would propose that there can never be too many music reviews in the world. I still regularly consult my dog-eared The Rolling Stone Record Review volumes from the early ‘70s, both as primary-source reference material when researching an artist, and to remind me of some of the journalists who originally inspired me to try my hand at this whole rock critic game. So it would be entirely appropriate if some young wannabe scribe in 2017 is in the process of mentally charting his own career path and taking deep inspiration from the likes of Gordon—and will still be hanging on to the four volumes in Gordon’s archives series some four-plus decades hence. Can I get a “boy howdy” to that?

As far as the “time for something new” part: To paraphrase Johnny from The Wild On”—well, Rev, what’ve you got? [Fred Mills]

I Got a Song: A History of the Newport Folk Festival, by Rick Massimo
Wesleyan University Press (June 6)

There was Woodstock and there was Monterey; there’s Telluride and Bonnaroo; but in terms of a legacy and significance, no festival can match the prestige of the Newport Folk Festival. It was there that Dylan committed the utmost in blasphemy by exchanging his acoustic guitar for the full throttle of rock ‘n’ roll. Where Pete Seeger made the bold decision to mix up the genres and African American artists like Odetta and Leadbelly were encouraged to share the same stages as their white contemporaries, long before integration in the arts became a common occurrence. And it was there, when Old Crow Medicine Show made its bow, that guitarist Chance McCoy could revel in the fact that he learned to play by listening to recordings made live at the Newport Folk Festival while he was growing up.

As the first to document a comprehensive history of the festival, author Rick Massimo had a formidable task on his hands, and yet, all that he accomplishes within the book’s 240 pages ranks it among the best music treatises of its kind ever written. Massimo doesn’t just give a broad historical survey; rather he pores into the personalities involved — the festival’s founder and long-time mainstay George Wein, those that helped execute the operation from behind the scenes, the performers that commanded its stage and the journalists that covered it year after year. The trajectory is told through anecdote and reflection, first-hand accounts of the sometimes difficult circumstances—financial and otherwise—hat occasionally threatened to imperil its progress. And yet through it all, the triumph of the music and people that made it provides its ultimate achievement, both then and now.

“The threading together of the traditional and the new has been a part of the festival’s ethos since the beginning, and it has fuelled its recent renaissance,” Massimo writes, and indeed, that’s the core of what this book is all about. It speaks to a grand legacy, one timeless in its intent and ever-changing in its execution. The song belongs to us all. Let’s hope it is never extinguished. [LEE ZIMMERMAN]

 

1967: A Complete Rock History of the Summer of Love, by Harvey Kubernik
Sterling Publishing Co. (April 18)

The name Harvey Kubernik undoubtedly rings a bell with anyone who is moderately interested in rock history; as a journalist, he’s covered music for national—and international—publications for decades, additionally working in A&R for the MCA label and producing numerous records over the years. More recently, he published handsome coffeetable books about Neil Young (Heart of Gold, reviewed here at BLURT) and Leonard Cohen (Everybody Knows, ditto here). With 1967, issued not-so-coincidentally just ahead of the much-ballyhooed 50th anniversary of the Summer of Love, he extends his authorial winning streak, once again in a colorful, graphics-rich 9 ¾” x 11 ½” coffeetable format and once again well-stocked and –organized with text, commentary, archival, and interview materials that belie the general stereotype of “coffeetable” book-as-mere-eye-candy.

In a nutshell, Kubernik, a longtime California resident who was making the nature(al) hippie scene back in the day, traces that epochal year, first introducing numerous major players of the era such as LSD prophet Timothy Leary, concert impresario Bill Graham, Elektra Records founder Jac Holzman, and members of the Jefferson Airplane, then pushing the narrative forward month by month via media accounts and firsthand quotes. Key events are highlighted, from the release of the Doors’ self-titled debut in January to the release of D.A. Pennebaker’s Bob Dylan documentary Don’t Look Back in May to the arrival of the first issue of Rolling Stone magazine in November. Along the way sundry key moments deserving of extended navel-gazing get their props—the Monterey Pop Festival, of course, which Kubernik previously documented in detail in a 2011 book, A Perfect Haze: The Illustrated History of the Monterey International Pop Festival; and, uh, a little album called Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band—but Kubernik puts plenty of energy into, and sets aside plenty of space for, smaller items on his sunshine checklist that he feels wielded an impact upon the times and the culture worth documenting.

To wit: The hippies of San Francisco may have dominated the conversation that year, but there was a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on in nearby L.A., where the Seeds were laying the, ahem, seeds for the eventual Nuggets-ian rediscovery of garage rock; across the continent in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, where a collection of studio rats who would one day be known as “the Swampers” were creating sonic magic behind some of the Sixties’ greatest funk/soul voices; and halfway across the world, where a conflict in the split country known as Vietnam was steadily growing, and along with it, American G.I.s were learning how to leaven their terror and stress with marijuana and underground records.

One of my favorite tangents in the 266-page book arrives on page 206, where Kubernik details the rise of the underground press, including the aforementioned Rolling Stone, the Berkeley Barb, Ramparts, and The Realist. The latter wielded a huge influence on yours truly, ensnaring me in its us-against-The-Man!, oftentimes surreal/silly aesthetic. Meanwhile, Kubernik rightly points out that the mainstream (relatively speaking) media likes of Playboy provided plenty of coverage to the emerging counterculture and the people behind it, with musicians in particular leading the pack. Among all the naked women and bachelor pad gear reviews was coverage of Jimi and Otis, Janis and Grace, Ravi Shankar, Chris Darrow of the Kaleidoscope, and others.

Did I mention the graphics and layout? Oh boy. Suffice to say that the hot-pink-yellow-green neon-day-glow outer cover of this hardback is clue enough that a visual feast awaits one inside—as do stunning photos and eye-catching fonts, along with respondents’ quotes blocked off into their own sections, effectively allowing the reader to graze and skim at will, should that be desired, over start-to-finish consuming. That’s the coffeetable-book factor working nicely in Kubernik’s favor alongside the hungry rock-geek effect.

Kubernik includes a four-page appendix, an alphabetized “Playlist” of tracks that no so-called self-respecting Scholar of Summer of Love would be caught dead without on their personal mixtape or Spotify roundup; for all you newbies out there, it gives you a chance to delve into far more than the usual suspects, given the presence of The Hombres (“Let It All Hang Out”), Friend & Lover (“Reach Out of the Darkness”), The Wild Cherries (“Krome Plated Yabbie”), and a slice of classic soul by the eternal James Carr that messes my mind up every time I hear it (“You Got My Mind Messed Up”). Throw in exhaustive quote sourcing for each chapter and an equally comprehensive bibliography that proves Kubernik is, first and foremost, a veteran reporter who personally interviewed most of the quoted individuals cropping up in his book’s pages, and you’ve got a scholarly tome that should be on the required reading list of any college course that purports to delve into the cultural history of the Sixties. [ —FRED MILLS]

 


The Prodigal Rogerson: The Tragic, Hilarious and Possibly Apocryphal Story of the Circle Jerks Bassist Roger Rogerson in the Golden Age of LA Punk, 1979-1996,
by J. Hunter Bennett
Microcosm Publishing (May 15)

Admittedly, the full title is a mouthful but this is one killer book put together by J. Hunter Bennett, bassist for terrific Washington, DC power pop band Dot Dash. I loved those early Circle Jerks records, but hardly knew anything about their bassist, Roger Rogerson. The book, done in an oral history style of the folks who were there (band members, Roger’s old girlfriend, his ex-wife, etc) spills the beans on what a complete over-the-top character that Rogerson really was. Blowing into LA from Kansas City in the late 70’s the dude was as enigmatic as he was colorful and boisterous. Eventually he OD’d, but lived, and managed to still play for a few years. However, band members say he was never the same again.

A master of odd phrases (“Horn in, chief out”, etc.) and a personality turned toward the con, Rogerson even played with teen idol Jimmy McNichol for a while. The guy seemed to make friends or at least acquaintances, wherever he went, at least until the day he stole the Circle Jerks van and vanished. For a while, anyway, until he reappeared in… aw, I don’t want to spoil the book for you. It’s a must read and yes, you must read it. The American hardcore scene of the early ‘80s had many characters—a few within the Circle Jerks—and especially the LA scene, but Rogerson was definitely near the top of that “characters” category.

As the title says, the tale is both tragic and hilarious, but above all, riveting reading. Miss this book and your life will never improve, Incidentally, this is the fourth in Microcosm’s Scene History series). [ –Tim Hinely]

Sgt Pepper At Fifty: The Mood, the Look, the Sound, the Legacy of the Beatles’ Great Masterpiece, by Mike McInnerney, Bill DeMain & Gillian G. Gaar
Sterling Publishing Co. (June 1)

If you’re like me, you sometimes shudder as we approach the anniversary of such-and-such iconic artifact from the ‘60s; I’m as nostalgic for my misspent youth as the next senior citizen, but as anniversary celebrations are often organized by people who experienced the artifact in question secondhand, they frequently overlook some of the most salient aspects while elevating the more mundane ones. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band has been no exception this year, with talking heads going into breathless overdrive, media outlets doing their best to cash in with tie-ins and even the record label itself doing its level best to dilute what was genuinely groundbreaking about the 1967 album by serving up a buffet of studio outtakes that illustrate why they were, in fact, relegated to outtake status.

This 178-page hardback book is a welcome exception, not only getting everything right in terms of providing an immensely informative and entertaining analysis of a musical and cultural watershed, but also in the way the evidence of same is presented for the printed page.

The structure is straightforward: Following a stage-setting introduction by Gillian G. Gaar—a Seattle-based journalist/author (she’s a longtime BLURT contributor) and scholar on all things Elvis, Nirvana, and the Beatles—Mike McInnerney, who during the Sixties was a graphic designer in London, reports on “The Mood” that informed the era in which the Beatles operated. He touches upon everything from the counterculture’s obsession with spiritual and, ahem, chemical enlightenment, to the influence that fashion and art wielded among youth, to some of the mass gatherings taking place that additionally put that youth front and center in the media. Next, Nashville-based journalist Bill DeMain tackles “The Look”—speaking of fashion and art—that went into how the Beatles physically presented themselves (one section subtitle is “Pepper Sprouts: How the Beatles’ Mustaches Set Them Free in the Summer of Love,” tellingly enough) and all the behind-the scenes stuff that went into creating the iconic Sgt. Pepper’s record sleeve. Fun side note: The origins of the notorious “Paul McCartney Is Dead” urban legend that would sweep the planet in 1969 can be traced back to the album’s photo session. And finally, Gaar writes about “The Sound,” discussing the actual recording sessions for the record. She breaks down individual songs and traces the progression of the material, recounts some of the public’s and media’s reactions upon the album’s initial release, and even delves into some of the more intriguing (for Beatles geeks, at least) musical minutiae, such as the debate over which is “better,” the mono or stereo mix.

Throughout, Sgt Pepper At Fifty supplies a nonstop visual feast, from period photos of the Swinging Sixties and shots of relevant cultural heroes of the day (including many who were pictured on the album cover), to images of the Beatles working in the studio and assorted ephemera (such as shots of them in India with the Maharishi and on the set of the video shoot for “Strawberry Fields Forever”). Some of the photos are familiar, but many are not, indicative of the thought and care that went into the book’s creators’ planning process. Ultimately, it’s a solid time capsule for anyone wanting to delve into both the content of and context surrounding Sgt. Pepper’s, as well as a worthy addition to any Beatles fan’s already-sagging bookshelf—a keeper and a conversation-starter that you’ll no doubt want to display conspicuously for when visitors arrive. [ —Fred Mills]


Armadillo World Headquarters: A Memoir,
by Eddie Wilson, with Jesse Sublett
University of Texas Press (April 4)

It may be a slight exaggeration to say Eddie Wilson is the reason why Austin isknown today as the “Live Music Capitol of the World.” But just a slight one.

Wilson, a liberal hippie in 1970s Texas – when such things still existed – founded the Armadillo World Headquarters, Texas’ version of CBGBs, Café Wha, The Fillmore and Whiskey A Go Go, all in one venue. In his brilliantly clever memoir, Wilson details the exact moment he found the old National Guard armory that he would soon convert into a club that would host everyone from Frank Zappa, Slade, AC/DC, Springsteen to Willie (naturally).

“If not for the coincidence of a swollen bladder and a flimsy lock on a derelict building, there might never have been a place called Armadillo World Headquarters,” writes Wilson in the opening paragraph.

The author, along with Jimmie Dale Gilmore, the legendary singer/songwriter and all around badass member of The Flatliners, walked across the street from the Cactus Club to piss on the side of an old building and stumbled on his Taj Mahal. Not too much later, with a small army of friends fueled by a lot of cheap pot and local Texas beer, they would open and run the legendary Austin venue from the early ‘70s through the early ‘80s.

The book is a fascinating story of how a handful of young adults managed, at least for a little while, to completely define a city that at that point was known for little more than Longhorns football and Lone Star politicians. The venue became a haven for all kinds of freethinkers and non-conformists, boasting several brilliant poster artists, and eventually an off-shoot ad firm (they helped to reinvigorate Lone Star beer sales with a genius longneck bottle campaign). The ‘dillo also had a world class kitchen and catering company and was the scene for several live albums, fundraisers for liberal politicians and causes and even competing music venues.

Despite its reputation with music fans and musicians across the globe, the venue rarely made a profit. However, it could be argued that everything from the long-running PBS live music show, Austin City Limits, to the SXSW music festival would not have existed if not for Wilson and his merry band of music-loving hippies.

His memoir is required reading for any music fan out there. [John B. Moore]

 

All Over the Map: True Heroes of Texas Music, by Michael Corcoran
University of North Texas Press (May 17)

Quick, determine which artist in each musical trifecta here does not belong with the others: (1) country gyspy Floyd Tillman, gangsta hip-hoppers the Geto Boys, soul music avatars Archie Bell and the Drells; (2) outlaw country rocker Billy Joe Shaver, Dylan/Velvet Underground/Zappa producer Tom Wilson, fiddle legend Johnny Gimble; and (3) “loco” jazz-polka accordionist Steve Jordan, cosmic cowboy Doug Sahm, Tejana pop superstar Selena.

Think you know the answers? Sorry, it was a trick question, because if you listed a single name, you failed the quiz. As chronicled in veteran music journalist Austin-based Michael Corcoran’s latest book, each artist originally hails from Texas: in respective order, from Lone Star regions Houston, the Waco area, and San Antonio/Rio Grande Valley. By way of fun facts: I had always figured Bell and his Drells were from the South, probably South Carolina, due to their being strongly identified with beach music; I did not realize that producer Wilson was African-American, much less from Texas, considering how so many of his productions were done in New York studios; and always just assumed Selena came from Mexico, considering that her core audience was located south of the border.

The point I’m making, of course, and the one Corcoran clearly intends to convey with All Over the Map, is that Texas is way more than folk, country, Tex-Mex, and the blues; for every Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt, there’s a Ronnie Dawson (rockabilly) and a Butthole Surfers (psychedelic punk). I mean, did you even realize that Sly Stone was born in Dallas and spent part of his childhood in nearby Dallas? Admittedly, Texas is a big freakin’ place, and as Corcoran notes, “It’s where the South ends and the West begins, and yet Texas remains independent of those regions. Removed from the pressures of the music industry centers, Texans were able to chase the muse without much interference, resulting in indigenous sounds that retained personality.” (No kidding. Among the diverse “personalities” Texas has spawned over the year are Janis Joplin, Roky Erickson, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Gibby Haynes, and DJ Screw. ‘nuf said.)

Clocking in at 308 pages, All Over the Map, as noted above, breaks its musical groupings down via region rather than the more obvious genre or chronological options. It’s not a history of Texas; rather, you get an invaluable series of history lessons via the context Corcoran places each of his 39 main profiles, and the stories they tell or have told about them. In this study, then, the artists who came out of Waco are as important as those from Austin, and neither East Texas nor West Texas is the more influential locale, partly because within each section, there’s a hugely range of styles being practiced.

In many instances, Corcoran conducted firsthand interviews, an authorial perk of someone who spent much of his professional career as a music critic for the Dallas Morning News, Texas Monthly, and of course the Austin-American Statesman. (Anyone who ever attended South By Southwest prior to 2012 inevitably came across the Corcoran byline in the daily paper while the annual music conference was raging.) He also includes a musical appendix, a 34-track playlist of artists not included among the profiles; for example, he didn’t write about ZZ Top, Willie Nelson, Roy Orbison, or Marty Robbins, preferring instead to utilize that space to sing the praises of some lesser-knowns. And there’s a nice section titled “Behind-the-Scenes Heroes” that serves up tributes to musical movers and shakers who weren’t necessarily musicians themselves, among them journalist Chet Flippo, SXSW legend Brent Grulke, and legendary club owner Clifford Antone.

Factor in an amazing selection of archival photos—several of them not heavily circulated before, like a teenaged Stevie Ray Vaughan, and a shot of Don Walser and his band onstage and sporting Stetsons nearly scraping the venue’s impossibly low ceiling—and you’ve got a Texas-themed book that is essential reading whether you’re a Lone Star fanatic or just a standard-issue music geek. It’s also more than just an updated edition of Corcoran’s original 2005 book of the same name. As he points out, he opted to rewrite it, adding both newly-unearthed information and entire new chapters. [ —FRED MILLS]

 

America 51: A Probe Into the Realities That Are Hiding Inside “The Greatest Country In the World,” by Corey Taylor
Da Capo Press (August 8)

In 2011 Corey Taylor, the lead singer for Slipknot and Stone Sour, hustled his way onto the New York Times Best Sellers list with Seven Deadly Sins: Settling the Argument Between Born Bad and Damaged Good (Da Capo Press), a part-memoir, part-self-help tome that used as its jumping-off point Taylor’s own extensive first-hand acquaintance with those titular sins and sundry related vices, and subsequently extrapolated them to explaining how fucked-up humans—and by implication, societies—truly are. The book was a mixed bag. As our reviewer observed at the time, “Taylor’s ramblings, though entertaining at first, start to grate by the time you hit gluttony. A decent enough effort, that doesn’t exactly fulfill its promise. Two hundred and seventy pages later, I’m wondering if Taylor is guiltier of vanity or greed for thinking his peachiness on society’s ills is worth shelling out $25 in hardcover.”

Since then, Taylor has also published 2014’s You’re Making Me Hate You: A Cantankerous Look at the Common Misconception That Humans Have Any Common Sense Left, which in places mined similar themes (including a love of ridiculously long and convoluted book titles), but was generally deemed to be more laugh-out-loud funny and less self-aggrandizing than its predecessor. With America 51, Taylor maintains his lazer-like focus on our cultural foibles (I suspect he would never use a word like “foibles,” but hey, BLURT is a family publication), this time drilling down into the new era of der Trumph. As a touring musician, he’s as eminently qualified as Steve Earle to do so—one cannot truly say they understand how America is viewed by people in other countries until they’ve actually visited those countries and talked to those people—and as someone who has clearly put a lot of time and effort into thinking about what it means to be an American in 2017, versus just clicking on clickbait and then ranting about it to his Facebook followers, he’s earned the right to do so in a very public forum such as a book from a major publishing house.

Here, Taylor tackles religion, racism, bigotry, and the alt-right; chronicles the drip-drip-boom-boom of propaganda (see: social media; #fakenews) through our nation’s history; ruminates upon the “Fall of the House of Kennedy” and its implied corollary, the fall of the house of Clinton; and he even finds time to ponder just why man buns are so fucking annoying to pretty much everybody except the doofs who sport ‘em. The book title, accompanied by the image of the alien on the cover, is pretty awesome, incidentally; I’m sure I’m not the only one who has been wondering of late if our country isn’t actually part of some protracted alien autopsy experiment.

Trigger warning: There are more “fuck”s and “shit”s per capita here than a box set of Richard Pryor DVDs (I think Taylor would like that comparison, by the way). And from time to time, all the self-referencing Taylor engages in can at times feel disruptive, flow-wise; his screeds can often ome across more like a standup routine than an expanding narrative.

But maybe that’s the point. Taylor’s also grown immensely since 2011 as an essayist, and his sense of humor is indeed wicked. In 2017, having and expressing a sense of humor is the only thing that’s kept me sane, so I’m all for more—from a healthy disrespect for bullshit comes #resistance. I can’t say that I would welcome the opportunity to hang with Taylor at a backyard barbecue, since his outsized ego would probably mean he’d dominate all the conversations and keep me from concentrating on my game of cornhole.

Ultimately, I can say that I am grudgingly becoming a fan of the dude’s point of view and how he expresses that point of view. As I write this review, Kid Rock has just announced a bid for the U.S. Senate, aiming to take on Democrat Debbie Stabenow in 2018. And while I have no idea what, if any, political aspirations Corey Taylor might harbor, if he got an itch to run for office from his native Iowa in an effort to counterbalance whatever bad juju Sen. Rock might be aiming to conjure in Washington, I would certainly applaud the move. [Fred Mills]

 

VISUAL ABUSE: Jim Blanchard’s Graphic Art 1982-2002, by Jim Blanchard
Fantagraphics (Sept. 16, 2016)

And if you are looking more for eye candy… you’ve come to the right place.

By way of full disclosure: From around 1992 – 1997 I was the books/magazines buyer for an indie record store in Tucson, Arizona, and if you have a sharp memory of that time, you’ll know that the aforementioned period was what I’ll tentatively peg as “alternative lifestyles in ascendancy” for the book biz. Not only did I sell boatloads of tattoo/piercing books, straight-up rock bios, and (cough) The Anarchist Cookbook (ask me sometime about the grilling I got one afternoon from a couple of Tucson detectives looking into the presumably illegal escapades of a local punk “subversive”), the underground art milieu was in full bloom, along with its printed chroniclers.

Fantagraphics was not only one of the distributors we ordered from, it was a cultural force of nature in its own right, playing host/den-mother to its own stable of urban guerillas. So thumbing through this recent hard-cover volume from the publishing house, which collects, per the subtitle, native Texan/subsequent Northwest underground artist Jim Blanchard, I’m immediately struck by how delightfully right the guy’s work seems—and by that I don’t mean “for that era,” but instead, for the enduring underground aesthetic.

By way of additional disclosure: Somewhere in my attic is a sizable collection of old underground comics, hippie-era artifacts containing ground zero epistles from the likes of Crumb, Rodriguez, Griffin, Wilson et al. If you were born at the right time, it was a no-brainer to graduate from Mad and Cracked to Zap and its printed peers; and then, sometime later, after punk hit, to the sometimes realistic/sometimes impressionistic/always outrageous work of folks like Blanchard.

Visual Abuse is a flashback, for sure, stuffed with psychedelic skeletons, colliding craniums, bouncing breasts, exploding eyeballs, morphing mutants, and even the stray construction worker (?). More to the point, this handsomely appointed 200-page volume serves up a buffet of twisted brilliance that neatly presents an artist evolving alongside the culture he was chronicling and/or commenting on. Early in the game, Blanchard is found publishing his fanzine Blatch, duly inspired by punk and hardcore and soon dispensing photocopied word of wisdom alongside vivid pen-and-ink depictions of the likes of Black Flag, T.S.O.L., etc. Within a couple of years he’s doing concert posters and handbills, and with a relocation to Seattle in 1987, Blanchard, along with similar talents such as Charles Burns, crafting delicate (ahem) visual come-ons for potential attendees of upcoming shows by Skin Yard, the Fluid, Killdozer, Mentors, Butthole Surfers, and some three-piece called Nirvana.

In addition to reproductions of gig posters, the book includes Blanchard’s album art: Coffin Break sleeves for Sub Pop and C/Z, New Bomb Turks, Italy’s Raw Power, Mooseheart Faith (apparently a fave of Blanchard’s—and mine, too, with 1991’s Magic Square of the Sun a psychedelic gem as masterful as any of the Fillmore-era artists), and others.

Blanchard would digress into pure fantasy, both drug-induced and sexual in thrust; on occasion his sketches of females may border on sexism, but most of the images portray them as coming from a position of strength or power, such as the faux-Blaxploitation poster starring a giant Afro hair-do, and one for a “Patty Hearst is Tania” film. Here and there the book also displays some relatively straightforward narrative comic strips, like the chilling nine-panel “An abbreviated picto-history of bad crime in these United States,” about a pair of “big time hoods” who turned out to be just another pair of fuck-ups.

It’s an anarchic ride for sure, and a must-read for any fan of underground art, particularly those who came of age alongside Blanchard. As fellow artist Daniel Clowes testifies, in Blanchard’s honor, “A treasure trove of fucked-up shit from the dare end-times of a lost civilization.” You got that right. Now, more than ever. [Fred Mills]

cheap-trick

Out of the Basement: From Cheap Trick to DIY Punk in Rockford, Illinois, 1973-2005, by David Ensminger
Microcosm Publishing (Feb. 7)

I first became aware of current Houston resident David Ensminger’s writing when he did his classic punk zine Left of the Dial. I was sad when that one folded but since then Ensminger, who also teaches at a university, has published numerous books, most detailing all of the nooks and crevices of different punk rock scenes. This particular book, as the title states, goes into depth on Ensminger’s hometown of Rockford , IL. If you’re like me then the only thing you knew about Rockford was that it was the birthplace of Cheap Trick. I believe a few of the C.T. members still live there, but Ensminger goes back from the time of the immigrants who built the city in the early 1900s to the time it became a dilapidated rust belt city by the ‘70s and beyond.

After a small but strong music scene began to blossom when teenagers began buying guitars the author goes into the ‘60s garage band scene who called the place home to the classic Cheap Trick (‘70s) and then, by the early ‘80s, a hardcore punk scene began to spring up of which the author was a big part of (doing zines, helping put on shows, etc. The scene seemed like that of many others with too many good bands that never got the proper notice. Built by a dedicated crew of folks who kept it alive to the downsides of scenes (drunkenness, infighting, apathy, etc.) but Ensminger has a certain flair for words so he can turn even a humdrum Tuesday night punk gig at a bowling alley into the most exciting night of the year.

The book is part of the Microcosm’s “Scene History” series and it’s terrific. Pocket-sized, under 100 pages and a wealth of information. Even if you only have a passing interest in the punk scene you won’t want to miss this one as it not only give a history of the music scene but a history of the town of Rockford itself, built by the immigrants looking for a better life. [Tim Hinely]

In Love with These Times: My Life with Flying Nun Records, by Roger Shepherd

Title: In Love With These Times

Author: Roger Shepherd

Publisher: Harper Collins New Zealand

Publication Date: June 01, 2016

www.harpercollins.co.nz / www.omnianmusicgroup.com/collections/flying-nun-records/products/in-love-with-these-times-my-life-with-flying-nun-records

BY TIM HINELY

The music of New Zealand’s Flying Nun Records made such a huge impact on me when I first heard it in the mid-late ‘80s that I honestly can’t see anyone not liking it. Oh sure, it all had its lovable quirks—and some of the music was downright menacing, like the Gordons or Bailter Space—but stuff like The Chills or The Bats should’ve been million sellers, at least in my mind. Well, the gent who started it all on the back of a 7” by The Pin Group (but the next single, The Clean’s “Tally Ho!” really got the ball rolling), Roger Shepherd, has written a book about those days and it’s a terrific read.  Shepherd was born in 1959 in a dingy part of Christchurch and was an odd fellow, by his own admission, who sort of accidentally fell in to a small but burgeoning music scene. Between having older siblings and just being in the right place at the right time Shepherd haphazardly created one of the best and most influential record labels in the world…making it up as they went along (the ol’ punk rock aesthetic). At one point he met the Kilgour brothers, David and Hamish, of The Clean, who were showing everyone else how to do it.  The Clean were writing top-notch songs their own way as were several several others like Martin Phillipps of the Chills (whose sister Rachel worked at F.N.), Chris Knox, Shayne Carter and plenty of others.

Along the way Shepherd develops a nasty alcohol problem, moves to London to help the label thrive, falls in love there and gets married, and ends up losing the label—and then buying it back with the help of Neil Finn. Eventually he, his wife, and two daughters end up back in New Zealand and here we are today with the label still going. It’s a great read…Shepherd can be hilarious and, at times, brutally honest; he found out later in life he’s manic depressive and thus he figured out that was how he was able to create those amazing highs of the label. In Love with These Times is a quick but comprehensive read of a little label that could. There’s probably too many labels to mention who claim FN as a huge influence (NYC’s Captured Tracks for one, who have reissued some of the stuff over here), and Shepherd deserves every accolade that has been thrown his way.

The book is a rush from beginning to end and you must ride this one. Side note: I met Shepherd on my trip to N.Z. in February of ’91 where I tromped up the steps to the F.N. offices in Auckland and introduced myself to him where he was more than happy to chat for bit.

 

Dead Boys 1977: The Lost Photographs of Dave Treat, by Dave Treat

Title: Dead Boys 1977

Author: Dave Treat

Publisher: Signature Books

Publication Date: September 29, 2017

www.sbpbooks.com / www.deadboys1977.com

The Upshot: Photographer living in Cleveland when the punk icons formed was able to capture them at the beginning of their ascent.

By Fred Mills

It would appear that 2017 is The Year of the Dead Boys. Not only does it mark the 40th anniversary of the release of one of the earliest, and most influential, punk albums, Young, Loud and Snotty, it also brings guitarist Cheetah Chrome’s revived Dead Boys (featuring fellow alumnus Johnny Blitz, plus three like-minded miscreants rounding out the lineup) with a tour and an actual remake of that album, titled Still Snotty: Young, Loud and Snotty at 40, on the Plowboy label. (They performed it this past March in Austin during SXSW and reports are that it was positively smokin‘.) Meanwhile, even the bootleggers are taking the cue, such as with the vinyl release a couple of months ago of Down in Flames: Live at the Old Waldorf San Francisco 1977.

Which brings us to Dead Boys 1977, a coffeetable-style volume that collects heretofore unpublished photos of the band. It turns out that photography student Dave Treat had moved into a Cleveland apartment complex, and soon enough, one of his neighbors was Stiv Bators. “We became friends,” writes Treat in his foreword. “Over the next year, hanging out with Stiv, Cheetah, Johnny, and Jimmy was always a great time. The parties on Giel Avenue were legendary.”

No doubt. Treat also found the band to be a fertile photography opportunity, shooting the a reel of photos that would inspire the iconic YLAS cover (which itself was shot by Glenn Brown, but simply compare the cover to the Treat book here to the record sleeve and the evidence is undeniable). Collected in Dead Boys 1977 are a number of similar images, the band posing in the doorways of crumbling Cleveland tenements, lounging in decrepit alleyways and on loading docks, perched on fire escapes and in front of liquor stores and porn shops—you get the idea.

One particular gem is of a dirty apartment building’s hallway with Cheetah crouched over between his bandmates and mooning the camera.

Most of the photo are black and white (Treat also had a showing of his work in 2016 that included many of the images that now appear in the book), although there is a dynamic sequence of live shots that includes eight pages in full color. There’s also a final closing section dedicated to Stiv posing in his apartment—on the floor, laying on a couch, asleep in a chair, peeking out of the bathtub—and one of them, which depicts him crouching in the corner of the room with his hands stretched across his head, bears an uncanny similarity to the front cover of his first solo album, Disconnected. Perhaps he remembered the apartment session and wanted to recapture the original photo’s despairing, discombobulated vibe?

Treat clearly looks back on these days with great fondness, and his written recollections of Stiv in particular bring out an emotional side to him. For a performer and a band that specialized in outrage and confrontation, and did their fair share of giving American parents the willies about letting their kids check out this new punk rock noise, it might seem a stretch to suggest that Stiv and the Dead Boys are a source of tender nostalgia. But they meant something to us, and Stiv in particular managed to endear himself to a lot of people. His death in Paris in 1990 (he was hit by a car) was a huge shock, so to have these photos now, four decades after he hit the public consciousness in a big way, is a true gift.

By way of a personal coda: I never saw the Dead Boys first time around, during their Sire Records era in the late ‘70s. I did, however, see them at a small punk dive when they did a reunion tour in 1986 a few years after the initial breakup, and they—Stiv, in particular—didn’t disappoint. It’s a memory I cherish.

 

Incoming: Smithsonian Rock and Roll Book

By Blurt Staff

This will be an essential rock book to look forward to in the fall, October 24, to be precise, via Penguin Random House. It’s a 216-page hardcover book by the legendary Bill Bentley, crammed with crucial images, and we’re particularly proud to note that BLURT contributor and ace shutterbug Marty Perez is among the photographers whose work is showcased. Look for shots of the Replacements, Young Fresh Fellows, and R.E.M. Salute!

(Go HERE and HERE and HERE if you want to see some of Marty’s work here at our site.)

Product Info: In December 2015, the Smithsonian called on rock and roll lovers around the world to collect photos and stories of their favorite moments in music. Fans dug through attics, basements, closets, shoeboxes, digital cameras, and photo albums to post great rock shots to rockandroll.si.edu. From Woodstock to the Whisky a Go Go, from Lollapalooza to the 9:30 Club, and all the rockin’ places in between, fans overwhelmingly responded with their favorite rock and roll moments. Iconic artists ranging from the Who to Nirvana to Chuck Berry to the Jimi Hendrix and many more are celebrated here.

There are early photographs of everyone from Run-D.M.C. to the Runaways, and contemporary shots of some of the biggest names in music, including Bruce Springsteen, the Rolling Stones, and Metallica. Presented together, these photographs create a kaleidoscopic history of the artists, the musical styles, the venues, the concerts, and the fans. This is rock and roll as it has never been seen before.

Incoming: Oral History Book on Jerry Rubin and The Yippies

That would be the OTHER Jerry who waved his freak flag high…

By Uncle Blurt

Most of you are too young to even recognize the names “Jerry Rubin” and “Yippies”—and no doubt more than a few of my peers are too senile now to remember ‘em. But for those of us who staggered through the ‘60s and ‘70s and lived to talk about it, the significance is huge. From the college campus free speech movement of Amerikka and the anti-Vietnam War forces who railed against the Emperor Nixon, all the way to our current era in which Occupy groups resist institutional oppression and are paying witness to the eroding of democracy under the regime of Emperor Trump, there’s both relevance and resonance to be found in the anti-authoritarian efforts of Rubin and his peers.

Now there’s a book to go with the sentiments. Did It!, by veteran journalist and music archivist Pat Thomas, is due from Fantagraphics on September 5. Thomas is the author of Listen, Whitey! The sights & sounds of Black Power 1965-1975 and the co-curator of Invitation to Openness: The Jazz & Soul Photography of Les McCann 1960-1980.

Some details:

Did It! From Yippie to Yuppie: Jerry Rubin, An American Revolutionary, is billed as “the first ever oral and visual history of Jerry Rubin and The Yippies.” It features an impressive supporting cast, too—raise your hand if you know the names Paul Krassner, Chicago 8 Defendants, Black Panthers, John & Yoko, Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, Norman Mailer, Phil Ochs, Berkeley Free Speech Movement, Studio 54, Timothy Leary…

“[Rubin was] co-founder of the Yippies, Anti-Vietnam War radical, Chicago 8 defendant, New Age/Self Help proponent, and social-networking pioneer. Entire chapters chronicle bizarre interactions with Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs, John Lennon, and Mick Jagger are described via interviews and diaries – some found in Rubin’s personal archives and published for the first time – along with photographs & correspondence with Yoko Ono, Norman Mailer, Eldridge Cleaver, and the Weather Underground.  Also explored is the oft-misunderstood relationship between Rubin and his partner-in-crime Abbie Hoffman.

“75 of Rubin’s co-conspirators were interviewed for the book including fellow Chicago 8 Defendants, participants in the Berkeley Free Speech Movement; Paul Krassner, Judy Gumbo, Nancy Kurshan, John & Leni Sinclair (of the White Panthers & MC5), Rennie Davis, Country Joe McDonald and dozens more reveal in their own voice – vibrant stories of the era. Often left out in histories of the radical sixties, twenty women speak out in their own voice!”

 

The Blurt Music Book Summer Reading List

Everything from a legendary Austin music venue and the equally legendary Minneapolis punk scene, to the Summer of Love and the Newport Folk Festival. (Pictured above: the Suicide Commandos.)

BY JOHN B. MOORE, LEE ZIMMERMAN, TIM HINELY, AND FRED MILLS

Complicated Fun – The Birth Of Minneapolis Punk And Indie Rock, 1974 – 1984, by Cyn Collins
Minnesota Historical Society Press (April 4)

There are a number of seminal U.S. rock scenes that easily come to mind: New York in the mid-to-late ‘70s; Athens, GA in the early – to-mid- ‘80s and Seattle in the early ‘90s. Often overlooked by many but the die-hard music obsessives is Minneapolis throughout the ‘70s and early ‘80s. Prince, the Suburbs, Husker Du, the Replacements, Soul Asylum, Suicide Commandos… It’s remarkable that such a small region could be responsible for creating such an influentially impressive list of artists that remain relevant 30 and 40 years later.

DJ and music journalist Cyn Collins does a remarkable job in this oral history of tracking down and recording the memories and anecdotes of some of the scene greats. The early ‘70s were lean times for the Minneapolis musicians with few places to play, but getting inspiration from eclectic scenes like Detroit, London and New York, local rockers started to gather wherever they could, be it frat parties, bowling alleys or, in many cases, their own homes. Spurred on by influential local record stores like Oar Folkjokeopus or Electric Fetus, a legit music scene started to bubble up. Out of Oar Folkjokepus, for example, came Twin/Tone Records which would go on to put out records by the Replacements, Soul Asylum, The Suburbs, Jayhawks, Babes In Toyland and a slew of other great bands.

Around the same time, rock and punk venues started up and traded owners – in particular The Longhorn and First Avenue, in the process becoming legendary venues and soon locals realized Minneapolis bands were just as important as the national touring groups stopping through.

Complicated Fun is crammed with inside stories from those who helped start the scene. Everyone has a Prince story, everyone has a drunk Replacements story and everyone remembers the scene for what it was: a tight community of raucous, but brilliantly talented musicians some of whom would fade out early, but many of whom would go on to international acclaim and inspire others in far off places to start their own music scenes. Complicated Fun is a beautiful love note to DIY music everywhere.   [John B. Moore]

Boogie Chillun: Rock ‘n’ Blues Articles, Album & Book Reviews (The Reverend’s Archives, Vol. 4), by Reverend Keith A. Gordon

Excitable Press (April 8)

Volume friggin’ FOUR? Damn, Rev, you are making the rest of us scribes out here in indiesville look like slackers!

The “Rev” would be Keith Gordon, Nashville ex-pat currently terrorizing the populace of upstate New York, and regularly beaming his broadsides in via the digital pipeline to multiple media outlets (including, full disclosure, this very one from time to time). He’s a prolific sonofabitch, too, for you may recall that barely six months ago we reviewed his Let It Rock! compendium of rock-write, the third volume in his ongoing series of missives from the Gordon archives. As I noted at the time, “Let It Rock! zips, zings, and zooms across the rock/blues/Americana CD and DVD milieu, and as is always the case with record review anthologies, your attention and enthusiasm will ebb and flow depending on which artifact your thumb winds up paging to…. There’s something here for all of us, kids, ‘cos when the Rev. sets up his tent to preach the gospel, it’s a big goddam tent he pitches.”

Picking up where its predecessor left off, Boogie Chillun finds Gordon plucking roccrit nuggets from his back pages anew, dipping all the way back to the ‘70s at times, ultimately serving up more than 150 reviews (“and over 120,000 words,” he adds). Among those nuggets:

Black Oak Arkansas: The Complete Raunch ‘n’ Roll Live (album review): Okay, okay, all you Coachella clowns out there, yes, Rev. Keith and yours truly are indeed rednecks. That’s why we loved Black Oak in the first place! But I can tell you this: Back in the day, when Jim Dandy came to the rescue in concert, you considered yourself done rescued. Something tells me that is not a claim that a Fleet Foxes or Feist fan can make.

Johnny Thunders & the Heartbreakers: L.A.M.F. Live at the Village Gate 1977 (album review): Who needs another crummy-sounding, bootleg-in-everything-but-name-only Heartbreakers rec? You do, that’s who! Just because it’s released on Cleopatra doesn’t mean it’s not pure junk—which, coincidentally enough, is what killed Johnny Thunders. So don’t let it happen to you, kids. This is your brain on Rev. Keith—any questions?

Steve Earle & The Dukes: Terraplane (album review): As Blues are Gordon’s specialty, he includes plenty of da blooze in his book. He’s particularly well-qualified to assess Steve Earle’s well-publicized foray into the field, and his observations are about as insightful as any commentary I’ve read on Earle, period, and not just about the Terraplane album.

Zap Comix No. 16 (book review): I still own copies of all the original Zap underground comics—R. Crumb, if you are reading this, drop me a line sometime—but that doesn’t mean I’m dumb enough to actually take ‘em out of their bags ‘n’ boards and get my finger oil all over the covers. That’s why we have folks like Fantagraphics to reprint ‘em! “Zap Comix was the grandaddy of all undergrounds [that] proved that comix were a legitimate art form,” writes Gordon. Amen.

-“Piracy on the High Seas of Cyberspace” (1998 essay/op-ed): Here, Gordon talks to music industry folks such as Bill Glahn (then-editor of Live! Music Review, a bootleg-centric publication) and Richard Conlon of BMI, and the topic is issues surrounding the leaking of big-name albums before street date and the industry’s response. In 2017, the notion of “leaks” might seem vaguely quaint, given that numerous artists now put their music up on the web for streaming well ahead of an album’s physical release, and it actually serves to build buzz, not kill it. But in 1998 it was still a big deal, and the powers that be were shitting bricks and sweating dollars every time a major release loomed on the horizon. When you read this article, pay close attention to the comments from Glahn, as he presciently envisions what music access and distribution in the digital age-to-come will look like.

The Author points out in his introduction that Boogie Chillun is the final installment in his rock ‘n’ roll brain dump: “It still only scratches a small part of what I’ve written overall… I figure that four books of my literary narcissism are probably (at least) three too many… Perhaps it’s time for something new.”

Regarding the “three too many” angle: As someone who has enjoyed this rock ‘n’ roll animal’s writing for many years, I would propose that there can never be too many music reviews in the world. I still regularly consult my dog-eared The Rolling Stone Record Review volumes from the early ‘70s, both as primary-source reference material when researching an artist, and to remind me of some of the journalists who originally inspired me to try my hand at this whole rock critic game. So it would be entirely appropriate if some young wannabe scribe in 2017 is in the process of mentally charting his own career path and taking deep inspiration from the likes of Gordon—and will still be hanging on to the four volumes in Gordon’s archives series some four-plus decades hence. Can I get a “boy howdy” to that?

As far as the “time for something new” part: To paraphrase Johnny from The Wild On”—well, Rev, what’ve you got? [Fred Mills]

I Got a Song: A History of the Newport Folk Festival, by Rick Massimo
Wesleyan University Press (June 6)

There was Woodstock and there was Monterey; there’s Telluride and Bonnaroo; but in terms of a legacy and significance, no festival can match the prestige of the Newport Folk Festival. It was there that Dylan committed the utmost in blasphemy by exchanging his acoustic guitar for the full throttle of rock ‘n’ roll. Where Pete Seeger made the bold decision to mix up the genres and African American artists like Odetta and Leadbelly were encouraged to share the same stages as their white contemporaries, long before integration in the arts became a common occurrence. And it was there, when Old Crow Medicine Show made its bow, that guitarist Chance McCoy could revel in the fact that he learned to play by listening to recordings made live at the Newport Folk Festival while he was growing up.

As the first to document a comprehensive history of the festival, author Rick Massimo had a formidable task on his hands, and yet, all that he accomplishes within the book’s 240 pages ranks it among the best music treatises of its kind ever written. Massimo doesn’t just give a broad historical survey; rather he pores into the personalities involved — the festival’s founder and long-time mainstay George Wein, those that helped execute the operation from behind the scenes, the performers that commanded its stage and the journalists that covered it year after year. The trajectory is told through anecdote and reflection, first-hand accounts of the sometimes difficult circumstances—financial and otherwise—hat occasionally threatened to imperil its progress. And yet through it all, the triumph of the music and people that made it provides its ultimate achievement, both then and now.

“The threading together of the traditional and the new has been a part of the festival’s ethos since the beginning, and it has fuelled its recent renaissance,” Massimo writes, and indeed, that’s the core of what this book is all about. It speaks to a grand legacy, one timeless in its intent and ever-changing in its execution. The song belongs to us all. Let’s hope it is never extinguished. [LEE ZIMMERMAN]

 

1967: A Complete Rock History of the Summer of Love, by Harvey Kubernik
Sterling Publishing Co. (April 18)

The name Harvey Kubernik undoubtedly rings a bell with anyone who is moderately interested in rock history; as a journalist, he’s covered music for national—and international—publications for decades, additionally working in A&R for the MCA label and producing numerous records over the years. More recently, he published handsome coffeetable books about Neil Young (Heart of Gold, reviewed here at BLURT) and Leonard Cohen (Everybody Knows, ditto here). With 1967, issued not-so-coincidentally just ahead of the much-ballyhooed 50th anniversary of the Summer of Love, he extends his authorial winning streak, once again in a colorful, graphics-rich 9 ¾” x 11 ½” coffeetable format and once again well-stocked and –organized with text, commentary, archival, and interview materials that belie the general stereotype of “coffeetable” book-as-mere-eye-candy.

In a nutshell, Kubernik, a longtime California resident who was making the nature(al) hippie scene back in the day, traces that epochal year, first introducing numerous major players of the era such as LSD prophet Timothy Leary, concert impresario Bill Graham, Elektra Records founder Jac Holzman, and members of the Jefferson Airplane, then pushing the narrative forward month by month via media accounts and firsthand quotes. Key events are highlighted, from the release of the Doors’ self-titled debut in January to the release of D.A. Pennebaker’s Bob Dylan documentary Don’t Look Back in May to the arrival of the first issue of Rolling Stone magazine in November. Along the way sundry key moments deserving of extended navel-gazing get their props—the Monterey Pop Festival, of course, which Kubernik previously documented in detail in a 2011 book, A Perfect Haze: The Illustrated History of the Monterey International Pop Festival; and, uh, a little album called Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band—but Kubernik puts plenty of energy into, and sets aside plenty of space for, smaller items on his sunshine checklist that he feels wielded an impact upon the times and the culture worth documenting.

To wit: The hippies of San Francisco may have dominated the conversation that year, but there was a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on in nearby L.A., where the Seeds were laying the, ahem, seeds for the eventual Nuggets-ian rediscovery of garage rock; across the continent in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, where a collection of studio rats who would one day be known as “the Swampers” were creating sonic magic behind some of the Sixties’ greatest funk/soul voices; and halfway across the world, where a conflict in the split country known as Vietnam was steadily growing, and along with it, American G.I.s were learning how to leaven their terror and stress with marijuana and underground records.

One of my favorite tangents in the 266-page book arrives on page 206, where Kubernik details the rise of the underground press, including the aforementioned Rolling Stone, the Berkeley Barb, Ramparts, and The Realist. The latter wielded a huge influence on yours truly, ensnaring me in its us-against-The-Man!, oftentimes surreal/silly aesthetic. Meanwhile, Kubernik rightly points out that the mainstream (relatively speaking) media likes of Playboy provided plenty of coverage to the emerging counterculture and the people behind it, with musicians in particular leading the pack. Among all the naked women and bachelor pad gear reviews was coverage of Jimi and Otis, Janis and Grace, Ravi Shankar, Chris Darrow of the Kaleidoscope, and others.

Did I mention the graphics and layout? Oh boy. Suffice to say that the hot-pink-yellow-green neon-day-glow outer cover of this hardback is clue enough that a visual feast awaits one inside—as do stunning photos and eye-catching fonts, along with respondents’ quotes blocked off into their own sections, effectively allowing the reader to graze and skim at will, should that be desired, over start-to-finish consuming. That’s the coffeetable-book factor working nicely in Kubernik’s favor alongside the hungry rock-geek effect.

Kubernik includes a four-page appendix, an alphabetized “Playlist” of tracks that no so-called self-respecting Scholar of Summer of Love would be caught dead without on their personal mixtape or Spotify roundup; for all you newbies out there, it gives you a chance to delve into far more than the usual suspects, given the presence of The Hombres (“Let It All Hang Out”), Friend & Lover (“Reach Out of the Darkness”), The Wild Cherries (“Krome Plated Yabbie”), and a slice of classic soul by the eternal James Carr that messes my mind up every time I hear it (“You Got My Mind Messed Up”). Throw in exhaustive quote sourcing for each chapter and an equally comprehensive bibliography that proves Kubernik is, first and foremost, a veteran reporter who personally interviewed most of the quoted individuals cropping up in his book’s pages, and you’ve got a scholarly tome that should be on the required reading list of any college course that purports to delve into the cultural history of the Sixties. [ —FRED MILLS]

 


The Prodigal Rogerson: The Tragic, Hilarious and Possibly Apocryphal Story of the Circle Jerks Bassist Roger Rogerson in the Golden Age of LA Punk, 1979-1996,
by J. Hunter Bennett
Microcosm Publishing (May 15)

Admittedly, the full title is a mouthful but this is one killer book put together by J. Hunter Bennett, bassist for terrific Washington, DC power pop band Dot Dash. I loved those early Circle Jerks records, but hardly knew anything about their bassist, Roger Rogerson. The book, done in an oral history style of the folks who were there (band members, Roger’s old girlfriend, his ex-wife, etc) spills the beans on what a complete over-the-top character that Rogerson really was. Blowing into LA from Kansas City in the late 70’s the dude was as enigmatic as he was colorful and boisterous. Eventually he OD’d, but lived, and managed to still play for a few years. However, band members say he was never the same again.

A master of odd phrases (“Horn in, chief out”, etc.) and a personality turned toward the con, Rogerson even played with teen idol Jimmy McNichol for a while. The guy seemed to make friends or at least acquaintances, wherever he went, at least until the day he stole the Circle Jerks van and vanished. For a while, anyway, until he reappeared in… aw, I don’t want to spoil the book for you. It’s a must read and yes, you must read it. The American hardcore scene of the early ‘80s had many characters—a few within the Circle Jerks—and especially the LA scene, but Rogerson was definitely near the top of that “characters” category.

As the title says, the tale is both tragic and hilarious, but above all, riveting reading. Miss this book and your life will never improve, Incidentally, this is the fourth in Microcosm’s Scene History series). [ –Tim Hinely]

Sgt Pepper At Fifty: The Mood, the Look, the Sound, the Legacy of the Beatles’ Great Masterpiece, by Mike McInnerney, Bill DeMain & Gillian G. Gaar
Sterling Publishing Co. (June 1)

If you’re like me, you sometimes shudder as we approach the anniversary of such-and-such iconic artifact from the ‘60s; I’m as nostalgic for my misspent youth as the next senior citizen, but as anniversary celebrations are often organized by people who experienced the artifact in question secondhand, they frequently overlook some of the most salient aspects while elevating the more mundane ones. Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band has been no exception this year, with talking heads going into breathless overdrive, media outlets doing their best to cash in with tie-ins and even the record label itself doing its level best to dilute what was genuinely groundbreaking about the 1967 album by serving up a buffet of studio outtakes that illustrate why they were, in fact, relegated to outtake status.

This 178-page hardback book is a welcome exception, not only getting everything right in terms of providing an immensely informative and entertaining analysis of a musical and cultural watershed, but also in the way the evidence of same is presented for the printed page.

The structure is straightforward: Following a stage-setting introduction by Gillian G. Gaar—a Seattle-based journalist/author (she’s a longtime BLURT contributor) and scholar on all things Elvis, Nirvana, and the Beatles—Mike McInnerney, who during the Sixties was a graphic designer in London, reports on “The Mood” that informed the era in which the Beatles operated. He touches upon everything from the counterculture’s obsession with spiritual and, ahem, chemical enlightenment, to the influence that fashion and art wielded among youth, to some of the mass gatherings taking place that additionally put that youth front and center in the media. Next, Nashville-based journalist Bill DeMain tackles “The Look”—speaking of fashion and art—that went into how the Beatles physically presented themselves (one section subtitle is “Pepper Sprouts: How the Beatles’ Mustaches Set Them Free in the Summer of Love,” tellingly enough) and all the behind-the scenes stuff that went into creating the iconic Sgt. Pepper’s record sleeve. Fun side note: The origins of the notorious “Paul McCartney Is Dead” urban legend that would sweep the planet in 1969 can be traced back to the album’s photo session. And finally, Gaar writes about “The Sound,” discussing the actual recording sessions for the record. She breaks down individual songs and traces the progression of the material, recounts some of the public’s and media’s reactions upon the album’s initial release, and even delves into some of the more intriguing (for Beatles geeks, at least) musical minutiae, such as the debate over which is “better,” the mono or stereo mix.

Throughout, Sgt Pepper At Fifty supplies a nonstop visual feast, from period photos of the Swinging Sixties and shots of relevant cultural heroes of the day (including many who were pictured on the album cover), to images of the Beatles working in the studio and assorted ephemera (such as shots of them in India with the Maharishi and on the set of the video shoot for “Strawberry Fields Forever”). Some of the photos are familiar, but many are not, indicative of the thought and care that went into the book’s creators’ planning process. Ultimately, it’s a solid time capsule for anyone wanting to delve into both the content of and context surrounding Sgt. Pepper’s, as well as a worthy addition to any Beatles fan’s already-sagging bookshelf—a keeper and a conversation-starter that you’ll no doubt want to display conspicuously for when visitors arrive. [ —Fred Mills]


Armadillo World Headquarters: A Memoir,
by Eddie Wilson, with Jesse Sublett
University of Texas Press  (April 4)

It may be a slight exaggeration to say Eddie Wilson is the reason why Austin isknown today as the “Live Music Capitol of the World.” But just a slight one.

Wilson, a liberal hippie in 1970s Texas – when such things still existed – founded the Armadillo World Headquarters, Texas’ version of CBGBs, Café Wha, The Fillmore and Whiskey A Go Go, all in one venue. In his brilliantly clever memoir, Wilson details the exact moment he found the old National Guard armory that he would soon convert into a club that would host everyone from Frank Zappa, Slade, AC/DC, Springsteen to Willie (naturally).

“If not for the coincidence of a swollen bladder and a flimsy lock on a derelict building, there might never have been a place called Armadillo World Headquarters,” writes Wilson in the opening paragraph.

The author, along with Jimmie Dale Gilmore, the legendary singer/songwriter and all around badass member of The Flatliners, walked across the street from the Cactus Club to piss on the side of an old building and stumbled on his Taj Mahal. Not too much later, with a small army of friends fueled by a lot of cheap pot and local Texas beer, they would open and run the legendary Austin venue from the early ‘70s through the early ‘80s.

The book is a fascinating story of how a handful of young adults managed, at least for a little while, to completely define a city that at that point was known for little more than Longhorns football and Lone Star politicians. The venue became a haven for all kinds of freethinkers and non-conformists, boasting several brilliant poster artists, and eventually an off-shoot ad firm (they helped to reinvigorate Lone Star beer sales with a genius longneck bottle campaign). The ‘dillo also had a world class kitchen and catering company and was the scene for several live albums, fundraisers for liberal politicians and causes and even competing music venues.

Despite its reputation with music fans and musicians across the globe, the venue rarely made a profit. However, it could be argued that everything from the long-running PBS live music show, Austin City Limits, to the SXSW music festival would not have existed if not for Wilson and his merry band of music-loving hippies.

His memoir is required reading for any music fan out there. [John B. Moore]

 

All Over the Map: True Heroes of Texas Music, by Michael Corcoran
University of North Texas Press (May 17)

Quick, determine which artist in each musical trifecta here does not belong with the others: (1) country gyspy Floyd Tillman, gangsta hip-hoppers the Geto Boys, soul music avatars Archie Bell and the Drells; (2) outlaw country rocker Billy Joe Shaver, Dylan/Velvet Underground/Zappa producer Tom Wilson, fiddle legend Johnny Gimble; and (3) “loco” jazz-polka accordionist Steve Jordan, cosmic cowboy Doug Sahm, Tejana pop superstar Selena.

Think you know the answers? Sorry, it was a trick question, because if you listed a single name, you failed the quiz. As chronicled in veteran music journalist Austin-based Michael Corcoran’s latest book, each artist originally hails from Texas: in respective order, from Lone Star regions Houston, the Waco area, and San Antonio/Rio Grande Valley. By way of fun facts: I had always figured Bell and his Drells were from the South, probably South Carolina, due to their being strongly identified with beach music; I did not realize that producer Wilson was African-American, much less from Texas, considering how so many of his productions were done in New York studios; and always just assumed Selena came from Mexico, considering that her core audience was located south of the border.

The point I’m making, of course, and the one Corcoran clearly intends to convey with All Over the Map, is that Texas is way more than folk, country, Tex-Mex, and the blues; for every Guy Clark and Townes Van Zandt, there’s a Ronnie Dawson (rockabilly) and a Butthole Surfers (psychedelic punk). I mean, did you even realize that Sly Stone was born in Dallas and spent part of his childhood in nearby Dallas? Admittedly, Texas is a big freakin’ place, and as Corcoran notes, “It’s where the South ends and the West begins, and yet Texas remains independent of those regions. Removed from the pressures of the music industry centers, Texans were able to chase the muse without much interference, resulting in indigenous sounds that retained personality.” (No kidding. Among the diverse “personalities” Texas has spawned over the year are Janis Joplin, Roky Erickson, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Gibby Haynes, and DJ Screw. ‘nuf said.)

Clocking in at 308 pages, All Over the Map, as noted above, breaks its musical groupings down via region rather than the more obvious genre or chronological options. It’s not a history of Texas; rather, you get an invaluable series of history lessons via the context Corcoran places each of his 39 main profiles, and the stories they tell or have told about them. In this study, then, the artists who came out of Waco are as important as those from Austin, and neither East Texas nor West Texas is the more influential locale, partly because within each section, there’s a hugely range of styles being practiced.

In many instances, Corcoran conducted firsthand interviews, an authorial perk of someone who spent much of his professional career as a music critic for the Dallas Morning News, Texas Monthly, and of course the Austin-American Statesman. (Anyone who ever attended South By Southwest prior to 2012 inevitably came across the Corcoran byline in the daily paper while the annual music conference was raging.) He also includes a musical appendix, a 34-track playlist of artists not included among the profiles; for example, he didn’t write about ZZ Top, Willie Nelson, Roy Orbison, or Marty Robbins, preferring instead to utilize that space to sing the praises of some lesser-knowns. And there’s a nice section titled “Behind-the-Scenes Heroes” that serves up tributes to musical movers and shakers who weren’t necessarily musicians themselves, among them journalist Chet Flippo, SXSW legend Brent Grulke, and legendary club owner Clifford Antone.

Factor in an amazing selection of archival photos—several of them not heavily circulated before, like a teenaged Stevie Ray Vaughan, and a shot of Don Walser and his band onstage and sporting Stetsons nearly scraping the venue’s impossibly low ceiling—and you’ve got a Texas-themed book that is essential reading whether you’re a Lone Star fanatic or just a standard-issue music geek. It’s also more than just an updated edition of Corcoran’s original 2005 book of the same name. As he points out, he opted to rewrite it, adding both newly-unearthed information and entire new chapters. [ —FRED MILLS]

 

America 51: A Probe Into the Realities That Are Hiding Inside “The Greatest Country In the World,” by Corey Taylor
Da Capo Press (August 8)

In 2011 Corey Taylor, the lead singer for Slipknot and Stone Sour, hustled his way onto the New York Times Best Sellers list with Seven Deadly Sins: Settling the Argument Between Born Bad and Damaged Good (Da Capo Press), a part-memoir, part-self-help tome that used as its jumping-off point Taylor’s own extensive first-hand acquaintance with those titular sins and sundry related vices, and subsequently extrapolated them to explaining how fucked-up humans—and by implication, societies—truly are. The book was a mixed bag. As our reviewer observed at the time, “Taylor’s ramblings, though entertaining at first, start to grate by the time you hit gluttony. A decent enough effort, that doesn’t exactly fulfill its promise. Two hundred and seventy pages later, I’m wondering if Taylor is guiltier of vanity or greed for thinking his peachiness on society’s ills is worth shelling out $25 in hardcover.”

Since then, Taylor has also published 2014’s You’re Making Me Hate You: A Cantankerous Look at the Common Misconception That Humans Have Any Common Sense Left, which in places mined similar themes (including a love of ridiculously long and convoluted book titles), but was generally deemed to be more laugh-out-loud funny and less self-aggrandizing than its predecessor. With America 51, Taylor maintains his lazer-like focus on our cultural foibles (I suspect he would never use a word like “foibles,” but hey, BLURT is a family publication), this time drilling down into the new era of der Trumph. As a touring musician, he’s as eminently qualified as Steve Earle to do so—one cannot truly say they understand how America is viewed by people in other countries until they’ve actually visited those countries and talked to those people—and as someone who has clearly put a lot of time and effort into thinking about what it means to be an American in 2017, versus just clicking on clickbait and then ranting about it to his Facebook followers, he’s earned the right to do so in a very public forum such as a book from a major publishing house.

Here, Taylor tackles religion, racism, bigotry, and the alt-right; chronicles the drip-drip-boom-boom of propaganda (see: social media; #fakenews) through our nation’s history; ruminates upon the “Fall of the House of Kennedy” and its implied corollary, the fall of the house of Clinton; and he even finds time to ponder just why man buns are so fucking annoying to pretty much everybody except the doofs who sport ‘em. The book title, accompanied by the image of the alien on the cover, is pretty awesome, incidentally; I’m sure I’m not the only one who has been wondering of late if our country isn’t actually part of some protracted alien autopsy experiment.

Trigger warning: There are more “fuck”s and “shit”s per capita here than a box set of Richard Pryor DVDs (I think Taylor would like that comparison, by the way). And from time to time, all the self-referencing Taylor engages in can at times feel disruptive, flow-wise; his screeds can often ome across more like a standup routine than an expanding narrative.

But maybe that’s the point. Taylor’s also grown immensely since 2011 as an essayist, and his sense of humor is indeed wicked. In 2017, having and expressing a sense of humor is the only thing that’s kept me sane, so I’m all for more—from a healthy disrespect for bullshit comes #resistance. I can’t say that I would welcome the opportunity to hang with Taylor at a backyard barbecue, since his outsized ego would probably mean he’d dominate all the conversations and keep me from concentrating on my game of cornhole.

Ultimately, I can say that I am grudgingly becoming a fan of the dude’s point of view and how he expresses that point of view. As I write this review, Kid Rock has just announced a bid for the U.S. Senate, aiming to take on Democrat Debbie Stabenow in 2018. And while I have no idea what, if any, political aspirations Corey Taylor might harbor, if he got an itch to run for office from his native Iowa in an effort to counterbalance whatever bad juju Sen. Rock might be aiming to conjure in Washington, I would certainly applaud the move. [Fred Mills]

 

VISUAL ABUSE: Jim Blanchard’s Graphic Art 1982-2002, by Jim Blanchard
Fantagraphics (Sept. 16, 2016)

And if you are looking more for eye candy… you’ve come to the right place.

By  way of full disclosure: From around 1992 – 1997 I was the books/magazines buyer for an indie record store in Tucson, Arizona, and if you have a sharp memory of that time, you’ll know that the aforementioned period was what I’ll tentatively peg as “alternative lifestyles in ascendancy” for the book biz. Not only did I sell boatloads of tattoo/piercing books, straight-up rock bios, and (cough) The Anarchist Cookbook (ask me sometime about the grilling I got one afternoon from a couple of Tucson detectives looking into the presumably illegal escapades of a local punk “subversive”), the underground art milieu was in full bloom, along with its printed chroniclers.

Fantagraphics was not only one of the distributors we ordered from, it was a cultural force of nature in its own right, playing host/den-mother to its own stable of urban guerillas. So thumbing through this recent hard-cover volume from the publishing house, which collects, per the subtitle, native Texan/subsequent Northwest underground artist Jim Blanchard, I’m immediately struck by how delightfully right the guy’s work seems—and by that I don’t mean “for that era,” but instead, for the enduring underground aesthetic.

By way of additional disclosure: Somewhere in my attic is a sizable collection of old underground comics, hippie-era artifacts containing ground zero epistles from the likes of Crumb, Rodriguez, Griffin, Wilson et al. If you were born at the right time, it was a no-brainer to graduate from Mad and Cracked to Zap and its printed peers; and then, sometime later, after punk hit, to the sometimes realistic/sometimes impressionistic/always outrageous work of folks like Blanchard.

Visual Abuse is a flashback, for sure, stuffed with psychedelic skeletons, colliding craniums, bouncing breasts, exploding eyeballs, morphing mutants, and even the stray construction worker (?). More to the point, this handsomely appointed 200-page volume serves up a buffet of twisted brilliance that neatly presents an artist evolving alongside the culture he was chronicling and/or commenting on. Early in the game, Blanchard is found publishing his fanzine Blatch, duly inspired by punk and hardcore and soon dispensing photocopied word of wisdom alongside vivid pen-and-ink depictions of the likes of Black Flag, T.S.O.L., etc. Within a couple of years he’s doing concert posters and handbills, and with a relocation to Seattle in 1987, Blanchard, along with similar talents such as Charles Burns, crafting delicate (ahem) visual come-ons for potential attendees of upcoming shows by Skin Yard, the Fluid, Killdozer, Mentors, Butthole Surfers, and some three-piece called Nirvana.

In addition to reproductions of gig posters, the book includes Blanchard’s album art: Coffin Break sleeves for Sub Pop and C/Z, New Bomb Turks, Italy’s Raw Power, Mooseheart Faith (apparently a fave of Blanchard’s—and mine, too, with 1991’s Magic Square of the Sun a psychedelic gem as masterful as any of the Fillmore-era artists), and others.

Blanchard would digress into pure fantasy, both drug-induced and sexual in thrust; on occasion his sketches of females may border on sexism, but most of the images portray them as coming from a position of strength or power, such as the faux-Blaxploitation poster starring a giant Afro hair-do, and one for a “Patty Hearst is Tania” film. Here and there the book also displays some relatively straightforward narrative comic strips, like the chilling nine-panel “An abbreviated picto-history of bad crime in these United States,” about a pair of “big time hoods” who turned out to be just another pair of fuck-ups.

It’s an anarchic ride for sure, and a must-read for any fan of underground art, particularly those who came of age alongside Blanchard. As fellow artist Daniel Clowes testifies, in Blanchard’s honor, “A treasure trove of fucked-up shit from the dare end-times of a lost civilization.” You got that right. Now, more than ever. [Fred Mills]

cheap-trick

Out of the Basement: From Cheap Trick to DIY Punk in Rockford, Illinois, 1973-2005, by David Ensminger
Microcosm Publishing (Feb. 7)

I first became aware of current Houston resident David Ensminger’s writing when he did his classic punk zine Left of the Dial. I was sad when that one folded but since then Ensminger, who also teaches at a university, has published numerous books, most detailing all of the nooks and crevices of different punk rock scenes. This particular book, as the title states, goes into depth on Ensminger’s hometown of Rockford , IL. If you’re like me then the only thing you knew about Rockford was that it was the birthplace of Cheap Trick. I believe a few of the C.T. members still live there, but Ensminger goes back from the time of the immigrants who built the city in the early 1900s to the time it became a dilapidated rust belt city by the ‘70s and beyond.

After a small but strong music scene began to blossom when teenagers began buying guitars the author goes into the ‘60s garage band scene who called the place home to the classic Cheap Trick (‘70s) and then, by the early ‘80s, a hardcore punk scene began to spring up of which the author was a big part of (doing zines, helping put on shows, etc. The scene seemed like that of many others with too many good bands that never got the proper notice. Built by a dedicated crew of folks who kept it alive to the downsides of scenes (drunkenness, infighting, apathy, etc.) but Ensminger has a certain flair for words so he can turn even a humdrum Tuesday night punk gig at a bowling alley into the most exciting night of the year.

The book is part of the Microcosm’s “Scene History” series and it’s terrific. Pocket-sized, under 100 pages and a wealth of information. Even if you only have a passing interest in the punk scene you won’t want to miss this one as it not only give a history of the music scene but a history of the town of Rockford itself, built by the immigrants looking for a better life. [Tim Hinely]